


IwaOi Week 2017 drabbles

by Frenchibi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (more tags to be added), Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, Living Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Sports Club AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-26 18:32:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10792329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frenchibi/pseuds/Frenchibi
Summary: Day 1: Immortality/CollegeDay 2: Unrequited/FirstsDay 3: Charm/Song-InspiredDay 4: Holidays/ParanoiaDay 5: Free day/MiscommunicationDay 6: Fairy Tale/AnomalyDay 7: Goodbyes/Hellos





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I won't have time for full-fledged fics like last year's Iwa Week and Oikawa Week (sorry) but I felt like I should at least try to do something :') Let's see if I can get something out every day!!  
> (Special Thanks to CJ at this point for her Endless Faith in my abilities) <\- heavy sarcasm  
> ANYWAY we all know that I work best when I work out of spite lmao so thanks for the challenge x'D

When Hajime wakes, it's with an unexpected but welcome warmth curled into his side.

He's a little dazed, trying to connect the feeling to a memory that feels too far away, to something that's safe, comforting, familiar. There's this smell, too, that makes

Hajime want to sink back under the covers and inhale, breathing in the calm that it brings.

He shifts, eyes fluttering open when his leg catches on something that feels distinctly leg-shaped as well.

There's soft light breaking through the blinds, and Hajime blinks for a moment, disoriented in this unfamiliar room. But it's so warm-

And slowly, it's coming back to him.

A whole bunch of moving boxes, three of which are still stacked against the wall just at the edge of his line of vision. The bed that took way too long to put together.

Falling asleep in an exhausted heap without even bothering to change their clothes.

His eyes focus on the shape he's got his arms wrapped around, warm and real and _here_ , chest rising and falling with slow breaths.

It's more on instinct than anything else that Hajime curls in further, burying his face in soft brown curls.

Yeah, he could get used to this.

With a smile on his lips, he lets himself drift.

  
The second time he wakes, it's to soft pressure on his hands; fingers pressing into his palms, drawing small, absent-minded shapes and swirls.

He curls his fingers ever so slightly, and the movement stops.

Weight shifts, the bed dips, and suddenly he's blinking up into chocolate brown eyes.

"G'morning, Iwa-chan," Tooru says, with a smile that really isn't fair on someone who just woke up.

"Hey," Hajime says back, voice raspier than he might like. He wraps his arms a little more tightly around Tooru's waist, pulling him close.

"...sleep well?"

Hajime blinks, stifling a yawn. He knows his nose scrunches up, because Tooru immediately brings up his finger to poke at it.

"Like the dead," he mumbles, before pretending to bite at Tooru's hand. The setter giggles and pulls it back, and Hajime smiles. "How about you...?"

"Mmh, fine," Tooru says, nuzzling up against his chest, hair tickling Hajime's chin. "I think I like this new arrangement. Don't you?"

Hajime shifts to press his lips to Tooru's forehead, allowing himself to bask in the warmth that's growing in his chest, filling him with a giddy sort of energy.

“Yeah. It’s... nice that your voice was the first thing I heard today.”

Tooru is silent for a second - then he pulls back almost violently with a gasp that's a little too loud to be completely genuine, bracing himself above Hajime.

"Iwa-chan!"

Hajime blinks up at him, slow and maybe a little too comfortable.

"Hm?"

"You- you can't just say something that sappy and romantic without warning?!"

He sounds honestly offended, but the wide grin on his face is a dead giveaway.

"...'s true though," he says, trying to play along by making it sound defensive - judging by Tooru's expression, though, he's not doing a very good job of it.

Stupid sappy thoughts, honestly.

It's too early to pretend to be annoyed.

"Nooooo," Tooru groans, half of the word getting muffled when he buries his face in the crook of Hajime's neck, dropping his weight back on top of him. "You're too cute!"

Hajime scoffs, bringing his arms up around him even as he tries not to laugh. " _I'm_ cute?"

"I hate you," Tooru grumbles, and Hajime pulls him closer, bringing up his legs to wrap around him as well.

"Sure you do."

"I mean it!" Tooru says, but even he's losing control of his fake-indignation in favor of chuckling.

"...hm, yeah, very convincing."

Hajime flips them over so they're lying side by side again, mattress creaking under their weight. His eyes sweep the room - it's still so bare, they should probably repaint the walls before putting up Tooru's stars - and find their way back to him. (Always, always back to him).

He must have the grossest, sappiest smile on his face because when Tooru cracks open an eye to look at him, he actually _blushes_. Adorable dumbass.

"Iwa-chan," he says again, but it's softer this time - and when he leans in for a kiss, Hajime is right there to meet him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I meant to make this short, idk what happened :'D  
> Anyway, more fluff, more tears, more cuddles! This is like... back to the roots for me, or something.

_ He's warm _ , Hajime thinks, as Tooru buries his face in his chest, arm sliding around to Hajime's back and tugging him closer, until their bodies are pressed together.

He's warm, even though he always complains about cold fingers and toes, and always uses it as an excuse to get up into Hajime's personal space.

Not that he minds it. It's always been this way, and just like how, with time, Hajime learned to read, write, and not to leave jars with bugs open in the living room, he's learned to accept these kind of things (hands linked under the table, arms around each other under the covers and sometimes during lunch breaks when Tooru needs to recharge) as part of  _ how the world works. _

And honestly, there's so many more of these truths, universal and reassuring. Like how Tooru's tone of voice gives away more than his smile. Like how his eyes search for Hajime before a powerful serve. Like how he can deal with  _ Shittykawa _ and  _ Crappykawa _ and a whole host of other almost-hurtful nicknames as long as Hajime grabs his wrist on the way home (he'll slow if he doesn't, getting lost in his insecurities) and lets Tooru curl up into his side when they're on his bed watching movies, sometimes with popcorn, sometimes with chocolate, sometimes with grapes and apple slices if Hajime's mom has her way.

Hajime knows how Tooru makes himself small sometimes, smaller than he ever should be, weighed down with doubts and fears and  _ what if I'll never be good enough _ .

Hajime also knows how to fix it, better than anyone.

And maybe that's the thought that kickstarts it.  _ Better than anyone _ .

He's never really had to think about Tooru not being there, because he always has been. And honestly, Tooru would be a complete mess without him, anyway, because he forgets half his stuff all the time? Hajime's the one who carries two bottles of water, an extra roll of tape, a small tube of hand cream for cuts and calluses - all in anticipation of Tooru draping himself over his back during practice with his telltale drawn-out "Iwa-chaaaan" to indicate that he's once again forgotten to pack his bag properly.

Hajime's heard Makki and Mattsun call him "team mom" behind his back, but really, the things he does are mostly for Tooru's benefit. It's not weird, or special, or anything. It's just them.

Tooru mumbles something in his sleep, incoherent with his face smushed up against Hajime's collar bone. Hajime exhales, tightening his grip.

Plus, he sleeps better with Tooru here. It's an arrangement that works on both ends; it's not like he's always giving and never getting anything in return. Tooru's just sort of reckless most of the time, and someone has to stop him from running himself into the ground. The recharging is mutual, as is the joy they share in victory (and the frustration of defeat). And Tooru's also more thoughtful than people give him credit for. He notices things, pays attention, remembers. He buys Hajime small things that  _ reminded me of you _ ; takes Hajime to  _ that new café that sells homemade chocolate ice cream _ , to the shrine and to festivals, to amusement parks and aquarium dates-

Tooru lets out a soft noise that rips Hajime from his thoughts, and he finds himself suddenly holding very still, tension growing in every muscle.

_ Oh. _

Fingers clench over the fabric of Hajime's shirt ( _ Tooru's _ , actually, because his sci-fi fan shirts are way softer than anything Hajime owns and perfect for sleeping in, even if Tooru swears by Hajime's hoodies) and Tooru wedges his leg between Hajime's knees, hooking in and pulling himself even closer.

Hajime might have stopped breathing.

Oh.  _ Oh _ .

Tooru exhales against his skin, and Hajime feels goosebumps erupt down his neck. He reflexively tightens his grip because it's the only thing he knows how to do, though he should probably be pulling away, should think this through, should give himself time to process the realization that just burst across every fibre of his being,  _ shit, shit, I'm in love with him- _

With a tiny hum, Tooru nuzzles his face against Hajime's skin, and he can only imagine that his eyes are fluttering open.

Hajime is acutely aware of how his heart is slamming against his chest, and on reflex he squeezes tighter, arms clenching around Tooru's middle.

"...Iwa-chan?"

Oh god, he's got his ear pressed right up against Hajime's ribcage, he can probably  _ hear _ -

The hands on his back unclench, touch going soft and gentle.

"...your heart's going crazy," Tooru mumbles, and Hajime thinks he might be dying. There's nothing he can do but hold on, pretty sure his knuckles are going white from the strain. And then-

"D'you have a nightmare?"

Hajime lets out a breath that's way too shaky and tries to calm his racing mind and heart, but he's drawing blanks and probably breathing too fast now, too, because he's bad at lying, this is the perfect excuse but he can't use it because it's Tooru and  _ holy shit _ he loves him so much, how did he never  _ realize _ -

"Hajime," Tooru whispers, and he's not sure if it's the concern in his voice, or the fact that he used his given name, or the fact that he starts rubbing his palms between Hajime's shoulder blades - either way, it feels like Hajime's heart jumps clean out of his chest and he knows there's more color in his face than is probably healthy, heat rising and making him wish the earth would open up and swallow him whole.

Slowly, Tooru tries to pull back to get a look at his face, and shit, it's too bright (even though the door's closed, the lamps are off, the only sliver of light comes from a crack in the blinds) and Tooru will _ see _ -

"No," Hajime manages, and his voice is so  _ wrong _ \- and Tooru stills.

Through everything, his own nervousness and the crushing weight of his realization, Hajime still feels apprehension rising from Tooru.

"...then what's wrong...?" he asks quietly.

Hajime wishes he could see his face, to judge his reactions, to make sure he's not crossing a line - but what line? Was there ever one? Was this Tooru's intention from the start? God, does he  _ know _ ?

Hajime is bad at lying. He doesn't usually see the point, and even though he's wishing he could, some small part of him is coming to terms with the fact that he's not supposed to. He wouldn't want Tooru to lie about something like this.

A million scenarios are shooting through his head, possibilities, reactions,  _ what does this mean for us? _

But underneath all that, there's a certainty, and with every second it grows.

Tooru is an irreplaceable part of Hajime's life. They're not two halves of a whole, but they complete each other in a way Hajime could never imagine anyone else doing. His mind jumps to Tooru's girlfriend, the only one whose confession he accepted, and how their relationship fizzled out after only a few weeks. She wasn't right, for him.

Hajime hadn't worried, back then. He hadn't given it much thought at all, especially since it hadn't taken long for it to become irrelevant again. Maybe some part of him knew that Tooru wouldn't find what he needed out there.

In fact, he's pretty sure (and his confidence is growing) that maybe what they both need is here, in each other's arms.

His heart’s still racing,  _ what if _ 's churning and terrifying him, and maybe all of this is moving too fast but  _ how did I never see this before? _

"I- I just-"

And even though Hajime is fighting for words, Tooru is already pulling him close again, offering comfort and warmth no matter what. It's honestly not fair, how easy it is to let himself go, to surrender to everything Tooru is offering-

It’s too easy to love him.

"Tooru," he says, and the tension is rising again, but really, there’s no choice. Hajime can’t keep this a secret, he already feels the words pushing towards his lips, _out,_ _tell him, now,_ "Tooru, I- I think I'm in love with you."

Tooru goes scarily still, and then it’s his grip that’s turning rigid, clenching tightly around Hajime’s waist.

“...what?”

Hajime takes a few breaths, trying to steady himself, his own fingers catching on Tooru’s shirt and staying there, tangled up and close. Like a lifeline.

“I’m in love with you,” he says again, and the relief of saying it overpowers everything else. “I’m- shit, Tooru, I’m… I’m in love with you.”

The silence around them is suddenly heavy, strong,  _ everywhere, _ and Hajime’s mind races,  _ what if _ -

And then there’s a sound, so small that Hajime almost misses it over the way his pulse is pounding in his ears.

It’s Tooru’s breath, hitching in his throat, followed by what might be a sob.

“...oh,” Tooru whispers, and then he starts shaking, curling in over Hajime and pressing himself close, hiding his face and he’s  _ crying _ , actually crying, air catching in gasps as his hands clench into fists.

Everything else fades. All Hajime’s senses zero in on the boy in his arms, and it’s all he can do to hold him, to try and shoulder some of the weight that seems to be coming off him in waves, along with the tears that are slowly drenching the fabric over Hajime’s skin.

“I-Iwa-chan,” he chokes, pulling back so their eyes can finally, finally meet, “Iwa-chan, I-Iwa-chan, I-”

Hajime brings his hand up to cup Tooru’s cheek, staring in awe at how much raw emotion he can see in his eyes, despite how red and blotchy his face is from crying.

And it’s all there, too.  _ Oh, oh, Hajime, I love you _ and  _ I’ve waited so long _ and  _ please, please be mine now _ .

But he wants to hear it, then, with a fierce kind of determination, needs to make sure that he’s not making a mistake, that it’s okay to move on from here-

“Do you- do you think… do you think maybe we could try… being more than this?”

Tooru lifts his own hand to cover Hajime’s, fingers slipping together like they belong. His expression softens, wet with tears and so full of hope it’s almost painful. Hajime swallows against the lump in his throat, against the thoughts screaming  _ oh, oh, I don’t deserve this _ .

“I’ve always loved you,” Tooru says, barely more than a whisper, heavy with awe. “Always. And I never thought - I-I was sure you could n-never- love me the same way.”

Hajime tries to think back, to ten minutes ago, ten hours ago, ten days ago, when tonight’s revelation was unthinkable - but he finds that he can’t. Because it feels like everything makes sense now, and his previous understanding of the world, of their lives, of his feelings is falling away. All he knows is that Tooru was always most important, for as long as he can remember.

“...think I always did,” he says, blinking the disbelief out of his own eyes. “I just- I didn’t realize. God, Tooru, I’m sorry-”

But Tooru brings up his other hand and claps it over Hajime’s mouth, cutting him off.

“D-don’t. Don’t. This is perfect. I’m- y-you’re here now. You see, now.”

Hajime nods, brushing his thumb over Tooru’s cheek. “Yeah.”

Tooru holds his gaze, and despite the tears he’s never looked more certain, more resolute. Hajime finds himself falling, bit by bit and then all at once, for the fire in Tooru’s eyes and the salt on his skin, for the way he’s practically glowing, exhaustion and worry falling away in favor of a smile that has Hajime catching his breath.

It’s a little too much, and Tooru seems to think so too, because he lets out a small, breathy laugh and lets himself fall forward, back into Hajime’s arms.

He catches him on instinct, fitting him against his chest like he’s done so many times before - only now it feels closer, stronger,  _ definite _ .

“Y-you mean it?” Tooru mumbles into Hajime’s skin, arms trembling ever so slightly. “…’s this real?”

And Hajime says the only thing he can think to say, because there aren’t words for the magnitude of feelings building in his chest. He squeezes him tighter and hopes that’s enough.

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS HAS BEEN A LONG TIME COMING  
> I have so many feelings about Harry Potter and the universe and just- GAH  
> I think it's safe to say I will be writing more HP AU in the future because I am so weak. Oh my god.  
> In any case, HAVE THIS MONSTER that is in no way a drabble anymore rip  
> (using both prompts this time, and [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xYqALMnfTSA))

Oikawa’s nose scrunches up, but he doesn’t care enough to try and neutralize his expression - besides, there’s no one here watching right now except Hanamaki and Matsukawa, and they’re going to give him shit either way.

“There’s no way that works,” he says, oozing contempt.

“You won’t know if you don’t try it out,” Hanamaki says, shrugging as if the matter meant no more to him than the headline of the _Daily Prophet_. (His mom sends them, in an attempt to _educate my foolish son_ , but Makki mostly throws them out without sparing them a second glance - no matter how reproachful the family owl looks when he does so. Being the son of the editor in chief means absolutely nothing to him.)

“I mean, you don’t really have anything to lose, do you?” Matsukawa tacks on, holding out the folded piece of paper for Oikawa to take.

Oikawa’s frown deepens.

“I don’t like this. At all. He’s gonna see right through it.” He even goes so far as to take a step back. “Besides - I know you guys have heard of amortentia. Do you know how long that takes to brew? There’s no way some simple _charm_ -”

“It’s not gonna make him fall in love with you,” Hanamaki interrupts. “Obviously. But that’s not what you want, anyway. You just want to… make him admit his feelings. Right?”

Well. Not entirely wrong. Oikawa’s been crushing on Iwaizumi since before they even started going to Hogwarts, and he’s pretty sure his Iwa-chan likes him back - but _pretty sure_ isn’t gonna cut it. He’s not going to confess and potentially ruin their perfect friendship and trust over _pretty sure_. Iwaizumi might just be humoring him. Iwaizumi might be confused. He might not be into boys at all.

The possibilities and odds are way, way too unpredictable for Oikawa _master-of-arithmancy_ Tooru. He knows that even magic has rules, in any case, so he’s not inclined to believe that some charm is gonna help him win Iwa-chan’s heart (or, well, give him more certainty).

“I don’t believe some dumb charm is gonna help,” he says.

Matsukawa rolls his eyes. “Where’s your sense of _romance_? The Oikawa I know would jump on this opportunity.”

He’s not wrong here, either. Oikawa’s fingers are itching to reach for the slip of paper Mattsun is holding out to him. He’s been _trying_ to be less of an idealist lately, but what if it does work? And, well, if it doesn’t work, he could always play it off as a dumb prank. Iwa-chan already thinks he’s dumb and immature (which is… kind of the reason he’s been trying not to be), so it wouldn’t even really be a setback. Damn.

“...I don’t know,” Oikawa says - and that’s probably a mistake, because Hanamaki’s eyes flash like he’d just won Gryffindor the house cup.

“Come _on_ ,” he says, “Live a little! Where’s your sense of adventure?! You’re never gonna progress if you keep being stupid and analytical!”

Oikawa’s about to argue that those two are not the same thing when Matsukawa joins in, roughly thrusting the piece of paper into his hand before he can resist.

“Take it. You can still think about using it, but take it for now.”

And he’s goddamn cunning, for a Hufflepuff. He knows that if Oikawa _knows_ the spell, of course he’s going to use it. Damn him.

“...fine,” he says, because his choice has already been made for him. Fine. Fine, then. He’d go embarrass himself in front of the hot Gryffindor seeker. Sure thing.

 

It’s surprisingly easy, casting the spell. Oikawa reads it once and it imprints itself in his brain because he’s _goddamn obsessive_ and this is Iwa-chan, after all, so he’s doubly susceptible - honestly, if he wasn’t so damn stubborn he would probably have gone to look for this spell on his own ages ago.

In any case, before he even has time to properly think this through, he’s walking into the great hall for dinner - and of course Iwaizumi waves him over as soon as he spots him (he must have some sort of radar, and Oikawa isn’t sure if that’s flattering or terrifying), and Oikawa’s wand slides into his hand from under his robes. Iwaizumi turns to say something to Hanamaki, opposite him, and Oikawa flicks his wrist and mutters the charm under his breath.

Tiny pink sparks shoot from his wand, but thankfully they don’t make too much noise - and Iwaizumi doesn’t seem to notice them hitting his back. Oikawa resists the urge to check if someone saw - that’d just make him look suspicious, at this point. So instead he adjusts his tie a little and drops down beside his best friend with a well-practiced grin.

“Hi, guys!”

“Fashionably late, as always,” Hanamaki comments, and Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “If only you paid as much attention to your grades as you did your appearance, Oikawa.”

Oikawa scoffs. “What’s that supposed to mean! I’m top of the grade!”

“By dumb luck, and because Sugawara lets you copy his work.”

Oikawa throws Hanamaki a look ( _this is NOT working!_ ) before slipping into exaggerated offense. “Not true! I study plenty, Iwa-chan! Besides, my grades and my flawless face have nothing to do with each other!”

“...flawless,” Iwaizumi repeats, eyebrows raised.

 _Hit it until it breaks_ , or something, right?

“Well, yeah. Unless you have a more fitting word?”

Iwaizumi just stares at him blankly for a moment. “Breathtaking,” he says, and Oikawa’s heart stops.

“Wh-”

“...ly annoying,” Iwaizumi finishes, grin spreading across his face like he’d just told the best joke of the century. “Oh my god, Makki, please tell me you saw that expression just now.”

“Princeless,” Hanamaki says, monotonous as ever. Oikawa claps his mouth shut.

Fucking fantastic. Absolutely nothing’s changed.

 

“Shit,” Iwaizumi says, pushing himself up from the bench just as Makki reaches for his second dessert (completely oblivious to the daggers Oikawa is glaring at him, because _you got my goddamn hopes up_ ), “I’m gonna be late for practice!”

Oikawa has to stop himself from pushing his lip forward in a pout. “Always so busy, Iwa-chan. Abandoning us already. Abandoning me _with Makki_!”

“I’d never abandon you,” Iwaizumi says seriously. And then, after a beat, “...I couldn’t do that to the world.”

Hanamaki snorts. “Your sacrifice is a noble one.”

“Isn’t it, though.” Iwaizumi turns to Oikawa. “You could come with, if you want. I’ll fly with you a bit when we’re done?”

Oikawa frowns a little, because that’s… an unusual offer.

“...really?”

Iwaizumi shrugs. “Yeah.”

“...you said flying with me was hard work and aged you ten years every time.”

At this, he rolls his eyes. “I was obviously kidding. Come on. I know you enjoy it.”

He does. And he’ll never get over the rush that comes with flying, over how much he loves the change of perspective, the height, the thrill-

The memory surges up immediately, like it always does, and he clenches his eyes shut reflexively, willing it away. When he reopens them, he’s met with Iwaizumi’s concerned gaze.

“...you don’t have to,” he says. “If today’s no good, that’s fine.”

Oikawa shakes his head quickly, warmth blossoming in his chest. Iwaizumi’s eyebrows stay knotted together for another moment before he smoothes out his expression.

“Well, I’m going now. See you around then?”

Without sparing Hanamaki so much as a second glance, Oikawa pushes himself up as well. “I’ll go,” he says.

Iwaizumi smiles (that’s unfair), and Oikawa’s heart tightens. Damn.

 

Watching quidditch practice, no matter what team, always leaves Oikawa with a bitter taste in his mouth, somehow. It’s been so long, but still it kind of hurts to not be up there too. Also, though Iwaizumi always does his best to make Oikawa feel welcome (and house rivalries aren’t _that_ strong anymore), it’s still hard to ignore when one of the batters looks less than pleased to have a Slytherin prefect watching them, making sure to vocalize his complaint.

“What’s he gonna do?” Sawamura says in Oikawa’s defense, always the voice of reason, and Oikawa, even from the stands, doesn’t miss the grateful look Iwaizumi shoots him.

Then again, it’s hard to miss these things when he’s got his eyes on him the entire time.

It’s what he’s here for, after all. To watch his best friend. (The rationalizing is always strong.)

And the thing is, when Iwaizumi occasionally glances over at where he’s sitting and waves, it’s all worth it because Oikawa feels like his heart is gonna burst out of his chest. Damn it.

He’s kind of disappointed the charm didn’t work - because he’s still left guessing, and he’s probably never going to have the guts to do anything about it.

Well. He should have known, since it was Mattsun and Makki who suggested it.

He sighs, eyes sweeping the pitch, briefly catching on the chasers as one of them passes the ball, before they flick back up to Iwaizumi, hovering above the rest to get a good vantage point.

Oikawa feels a pang of jealousy, and reminds himself of Iwaizumi’s promise. Soon. After practice. It’s gotta be enough.

 

“...you sure you’re okay with flying today?” Iwaizumi asks, for what feels like the twentieth time, leaning against the door as Oikawa changes clothes. He’s lending him his second team jersey, large letters on the back spelling out his name. It’s… not something that Oikawa minds, at all.

“Yes,” he says, already too giddy with nerves to throw back a retort. “It’s fine.”

“Really? Because you looked pretty distracted earlier. Worried.”

And he’s so attentive, it’s unfair. A bitter part of Oikawa’s mind whispers _his future girlfriend is the luckiest girl alive_.

“You know, it’s okay if you don’t want to. Today. My offer’s not gonna go away. I know I joke about it but I won’t hold it against you at all.”

Oikawa shakes his head again, even though his stomach is already in knots. But that’s never going to change, even if he wants longer. It’s something he needs to overcome.

“It’s okay, ‘cause it’s with you,” he says, before he can stop himself.

Iwaizumi’s gaze softens instantly, and Oikawa conceals the hitch in his breath with a fake cough. Today’s really bad, apparently.

“I won’t drop you, Shittykawa, no matter how many times I threaten it,” Iwaizumi says. “I hope you know that.”

All Oikawa manages in response is a nod, not trusting his voice. Maybe he doesn’t need some stupid charm - he’s pretty sure that sentence is now imprinted in his mind for all of eternity.

“Well then. Ready to go?”

And _shit_ , he’s holding out his hand. Like always. Oikawa isn’t going to survive this, is he.

“Yeah,” he says, and lets Iwaizumi pull him up anyway.

They walk out of the locker room together, Iwaizumi pulling him along, grip steady and reassuring, until they reach the spot where he’s left his broom. He releases Oikawa’s hand only because he has to, in order to properly get himself into position so Oikawa can climb up behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist.

“...ready?”

Oikawa squeezes him once for _yes_ , like they’d agreed. Iwaizumi covers one of his hands with his own and returns the pressure.

“Okay,” he says. “Hold on.” And he kicks off.

 

Flying is - there’s nothing quite like it. It’s like the world opening up beneath your feet, like leaving behind everything that’s weighing you down and becoming weightless, limitless, fearless.

Oikawa knows exactly why he used to love it.

The bitter prick of that memory is omnipresent, but Oikawa pushes it away in favor of admiring the view from where he’s safely pressed against Iwaizumi’s back, probably holding on more tightly than necessary, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

And Iwaizumi, in turn, doesn’t seem to mind. When they’ve reached a height that’s a little more prominent, he threads his fingers between Tooru’s on his stomach and tugs. Oikawa squeezes him again, once, _it’s okay, I’m okay._

It’s all the confirmation he needs to change their direction, slowly taking them off the pitch and out towards the castle, swerving so they’re moving along the shore of the lake. His grip on the broom is firm, and he makes sure to confirm every manoeuvre with Oikawa before he changes directions.

Oikawa is torn between basking in the feeling of finally being in the air again, and falling into the heat that’s pooling in his chest (and stomach and face) from being so close to Iwaizumi, from the absolute trust he has to put in him, and from how incredibly _considerate_ he’s being.

Iwaizumi is perfect in every way and Oikawa doesn’t know whether to swoon or scream.

The sun’s slowly moving closer to the horizon, and there’s fewer students outside than usual (even so, he pays them no mind even if they notice them - nothing matters, up here, but the feeling of Iwaizumi’s hand in his and the reassuring certainty that comes with being wrapped around him) - and Oikawa is surprised when Iwaizumi takes them right up to the castle, much closer than they usually go.

They’re technically not supposed to fly the brooms too far from the pitch (though Oikawa isn’t sure about the rules, really), and Iwaizumi is usually reluctant to - but right now he doesn’t seem to care, because suddenly they’re climbing, higher and higher, until they’re just above one of the castle’s many tiny roofs. Oikawa tightens his grip when he brings them down to land there, a little further away from the ledge.

Slowly (reluctantly) he unclenches his grip, pulling back to get off the broom and wrapping his arms around himself. Iwaizumi carefully sets the broom down, making sure it can’t accidentally fall and leave them stranded, before he turns to face Oikawa again. When he sees the position he’s in, though, he immediately steps closer and pulls him down to sit on the tiles, drawing him into a half-hug with his arm wrapped around Oikawa’s waist.

“You okay?”

 _Honestly_.

Oikawa nods, and really, he should be finding his voice again soon to avoid suspicion.

As it turns out, though, that probably wouldn’t have saved him, either. Because after a brief silence, Iwaizumi gently pokes his side and says: “So. You hexed me today.”

Oikawa blinks, color draining from his face. “Uh.”

“What was it, anyway? Some spell to make me be nice to you? You know you can just tell me if I’m being too mean.”

It’s honestly a little too much to process, and when Oikawa opens his mouth again, he barely manages more than a squeak.

Iwaizumi chuckles at that - a warm, familiar sound that reminds him of summers long ago, in a world half-forgotten, that had them sharing secrets in the tall grass of Iwaizumi’s garden, watching in awe as sparks flew from fingertips; _you’ve got magic, too?_

“Seriously though. I don’t know why you thought that was necessary.”

Ah, maybe it’s time to come clean. Something about the way the light hits Iwaizumi’s face when he glances up, or the way his arm feels like it _belongs_ where it’s wrapped around him, something about _all this_ , the flying and the roof and the _laughter_ is breaking down all of Oikawa’s defenses.

“...was a charm,” he mumbles, tucking himself more comfortably into Iwaizumi’s side. “Makki and Mattsun’s idea.”

Oikawa just _knows_ he’s rolling his eyes. “Of course. And you went along with it because…?”

He lets out a sigh. If only he was surer, less scared, less dependent on their friendship-

“...I had nothing to lose,” he says, all filters apparently gone, before he can stop himself.

Iwaizumi makes a startled sound. “How so?”

“Never mind,” he mutters, even though he knows Iwaizumi won’t let it go. He leans against him, heaving out a breath, mind racing.

“There’s no way I won’t mind,” Iwaizumi says. “It’s you we’re talking about. Talk to me.”

It’s not fair. He’s not _fair_. Oikawa can feel himself blushing all over again.

“The spell wasn’t… it wasn’t to make you say nice things. It… it was to make you… tell the truth, about… about… what you think of me.”

Iwaizumi stiffens, actually pulling back, leaving Oikawa strangely cold.

“Oh,” he says. And then nothing.

They simply sit and stare at each other for a moment, with an incredibly cliché gust of wind tugging at their hair and clothes. (Iwaizumi’s clothes. _Oh._ )

“...oh,” Iwaizumi repeats, eyes dropping to where he’s got his hands curled together in his lap, before darting back up to Oikawa. Is that a _blush_?

“...yeah,” Oikawa says, for lack of anything better. “I’m… sorry. I should’ve… just said something.”

And really, he should have. He could have. But he’s a fucking coward. It makes sense, that the hat didn’t put him in Gryffindor even though he begged to be with Iwa-chan.

Iwaizumi stares at him for a moment, before a laugh bubbles up out of his chest.

“That’s your _overthinking_ face. We’re talking now, right? You can say whatever you have to.”

Oikawa’s breath hitches again, and this time he lets it, because _really_.

“...you’re not fair, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi raises his eyebrows. “ _I’m_ not fair? You used a _spell_ on me instead of telling me what’s bothering you! We’re supposed to be friends, dumbass, so why don’t you trust me?!”

Oikawa groans and buries his face in his hands. “Cause I can’t just confess to my best friend,” he mumbles, against all his better judgment and the alarm bells ringing in his head.

He refuses to look up, but Iwaizumi isn’t saying anything, and he has to know-

He cracks his fingers apart to catch a glimpse at him, and lets his hands fall away in surprise when he sees that Iwaizumi’s face is _crimson_ , eyes blown wide and open in a way they rarely are. _Startled_.

“Oh,” he says tonelessly. Now it’s Oikawa’s turn to laugh, though it’s strained.

“...yeah, oh.”

With a sigh, he runs his hands over his face and up into his hair. “Look, it’s fine, we don’t have to do this right now. Or, you know, ever. We can just forget I said anything.” He drops his hands. “I mean, I know you care about me, and you’re my most important friend, and really that should be enough and that’s why I never said anything, because I just, I got lost and scared and I don’t want anything I say to change what we have because it’s honestly the best-”

And suddenly Iwaizumi is surging forward, grabbing him by the collar and smashing their lips together.

Oikawa is too startled to even react, pulling back immediately and breaking them apart with a gasp.

“Wha- Iwa-chan?!”

“I thought it was just me,” Iwaizumi says, and holy shit, he’s gone _so red-_

“...what?” There’s no way. There shouldn’t be. (And then there’s a tiny voice, _I knew it, I knew it, we wasted so much time-_ )

“Shit, I thought - I felt awful, _why am I wrecking the best thing in my life_ , I was sure I’d take this to the grave, because why would you- someone like me-”

It’s kind of too fast and all at once and way too much, and Oikawa has never felt more alive than right at that moment.

“I wanted to be sure,” he says, and his own eyes are probably just as wide as Iwaizumi’s and brimming with tears, “I- I had to know if my assumptions were right, a-and I didn’t want to break everything over _maybe_ , I’m so bad at taking chances and you were always so close, always right there and _I love you so much_ -”

“ _Ohmygod_ Oikawa, _stop,_ please, I’m- I need a minute. I need- _shit_.”

And he’s crying. He’s actually _crying_.

Oikawa breaks out of his trance, reaching to grab Iwaizumi’s hands, “Iwa-chan-”

“ _Fuck_ ,” he mutters, “fuck, I’m sorry, just- I just-”

And really, what’s Oikawa supposed to do but kiss him, then? Because he knows he always talks too much when he’s nervous, and he really needs Iwaizumi to stop crying because his heart _can’t handle this_.

This isn’t how he’d imagined it would happen (because of course he’s imagined this, dreamed about it, _hoping, hoping_ ), with Iwaizumi’s lips tasting like the salt from his tears, but honestly, when Iwaizumi grips his arms and pulls him closer, until Oikawa’s practically in his lap, and when he breaks them apart with breathless laughter, it’s somehow _better_.

“ _Shit_ ,” Iwaizumi says again, bumping their foreheads together. “You’re… fuck, Oikawa, we’re so stupid, aren’t we…?”

Oikawa huffs, but it’s not like he’s wrong.

“...so stupid.”

“Mhm.”

“...Iwa-chan?”

Green eyes meet brown.

“Yeah?”

“...kiss me again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...special thanks to CJ and Rikka on this one, you guys keep me going (and aren't afraid to kick my ass to bed, even though I'm stubborn as hell and it's now 3am)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holidays!! I remembered I had this thing that I wrote when I was at a sports club resort thingy with my family last year and never finished it up, so this prompt was just what I needed xD  
> As it turns out, I'm getting out a lot of stuff here for AUs I never finished, so... that's neat??  
> Oh also - I have been informed that "animator" is not really a clear job description but I didn't know what else to call the people who work at sports club holiday resorts? Who, you know, do fitness routines and activities with the guests? Idk? The club I went to was French and called them _animateur_ so that was all I had to go by :') If anyone knows a better word, please lmk ^^
> 
> ((this has **implied sexual content** , so skip if you're not comfortable with that))

Hajime's seen his fair share of pretty much any type of customer that comes to the establishments he works for in the summer, from families with overzealous kids who leave messes wherever they go to elderly ladies who’re only here for the water aerobics and boccia competitions - that’s the majority, and then there’s a bunch of people closer to his own age group - locals, sometimes, who only stay a couple days for parties and sunshine (often brought to the clubs by friends who work there), or tourists who come for the sports activities and/or for a more or less meaningless summer fling with one of the animators.

All this to say - Hajime isn’t unfamiliar with the type of _look_ that that last group of people have. It’s just that he doesn’t usually consider engaging in that kind of proposition. At all.

So it’s not without a certain amount of apprehension that he turns to face the guy who just tapped him on the shoulder after his poolside fitness session.

The guy gives him a smile that looks a little too pristine to be genuine, and a little wave.

“Thanks for the workout, trainer-san,” he says, shifting his weight. It’s subtle, but Hajime falls for it - it gets him to glance down, and, well. The guy’s not out of shape at all. Hajime noticed him earlier, during the workout - he’d looked like a beginner at first, but after a few tries he’d done better than most of the others. At natural athlete. Huh.

“Thank you,” he says in return, careful to not let his demeanor slip. He lets himself look at the guy’s face for a moment, and - oh. He’s pretty, to say the least.

They always are.

“It was really fun,” the guy says, and somehow manages to amp up his charm by about 60%.

“I’m glad,” Hajime says, and swallows the “that’s kind of my job” that would have followed.

Pretty-boy looks like he wants to say something else but is kind of losing confidence at Hajime’s lack of proper responses, so he just smiles a little wider and says “See you tomorrow!” before turning and walking away.

Hajime watches him go, realizing belatedly that the towel around his neck has tiny aliens printed on it. He can’t decide if that’s adorable or annoyingly dorky.

The guy walks over the only two people left in the immediate vicinity, two more tall guys holding towels and water bottles. Pretty-boy starts to go, but the taller of the two (dark hair, strong eyebrows, slouching frame) grabs him by the arm and turns him around, and the other (pink hair, wide grin) gives him a little shove.

That’s how it is, huh?

“Uhm,” Pretty-boy says, and oh, is he blushing? "I was just. Wondering, uhm. When do you get off?"

Hajime raises his eyebrows. Very direct. _Where do you get off, asking questions like that?_

But he doesn't say that, does he. Something about this guy - something about him that's not his dumb, pompous attitude and his unrealistic, stupid talent at everything he tries - something about him makes Hajime find him intriguing (and annoying).

So he just smiles - the practiced one, the one he gives the most persistent guests (and the most impatient ones), and says: "My shift ends at seven today, but I'm back on at eleven. The staff usually has Saturdays off, though."

Pretty boy looks a little shocked that he got a real answer, and one of his friends - the one with the pink hair and the smug grin - hides a laugh behind a cough. Eyebrows-guy smacks him on the back, but he's doing a sodding job of hiding his own amused grin.

"Oh. Uhm. Cool."

Hajime inwardly rolls his eyes, and gives him another smile. "Staff meets at 7:30 for drinks at the pool bar. Maybe I'll see you around."

That’s as much as he’s going to allow, for now. He doesn’t usually do this sort of thing. So without forcing the obviously tongue-tied guy into giving another answer, he turns and walks away (- not without catching a little girl by the back of her shirt as she shoots past and telling her that it's dangerous to run when the floor is wet. She stares up at him with wide eyes, intimidated, and nods meekly when he lets her go. She doesn't go far, though, before she turns - much like most of the female guests and a fair share of the guys - to watch Hajime leave. He ignores it).

~~~

"Holy shit, dude."

"Oh, he got you good."

"He really did."

"What happened to the suave Oikawa we know? Breaking hearts left and right?"

Tooru stops staring after the _ridiculously hot_ trainer and manages to shoot a glare in Makki and Mattsun's direction. "Shut the fuck up. Did you _see_ him?"

"Uhm, yeah. It was kinda hard to look at anything _other_ than him," Makki says. "Those arms are just unfair."

Mattsun clicks his tongue. "No, dude. The _legs_."

"Oh my god, guys, contain your gay."

They both turn to glare at Tooru in unison. "You're one to talk."

"You couldn't even make a coherent sentence around him. The fuck, Oikawa."

"Yeah, but - you guys are _in a relationship_."

Makki and Mattsun look at each other, and then resolutely back at Tooru.

"So?"

"You mean we can't appreciate a fine specimen when we see one?"

Tooru just blinks at them, at a loss for a moment.

"...fine," he says finally, and they both smirk like they've beat him at some weird game.

~~~

Needless to say, they talk him into going. _”You didn’t get the info for nothing, did you?”_ and all that. Fair enough. It’s just… something about this animator guy has really piqued Tooru’s interest.

Besides. He’s not here to be Makki and Mattsun’s third wheel - he’s here to have fun. Well, mostly through sports, that was the original plan, but Tooru doesn’t see why he can’t put his other skills to use here, too.

If only the prospect of actually trying to get in this guy’s pants didn’t intimidate him so much, for some reason.

"Oh shit, guys, he's here, he's here!"

Tooru scrambles off his seat at the bar to hide behind Mattsun, who suppresses a chuckle.

"What, you thought he'd lie to you? To the charming Oikawa Tooru? At whose feet men bow, begrudgingly, and women swoon?"

"Oh my god, shut up, don't move, he'll see me!"

Tooru squeals when Mattsun starts to sidestep him, and Makki laughs, drawing the attention of the people around them - including two of the other animators, a couple of energetic guys who’d been running around at the beach earlier, both of them sporting kind of ridiculous spiky hairstyles and seemingly bursting with endless enthusiasm. Probably part of the job description.

"Hey hey hey, Kuroo! Is that the guy?!"

It's not like he's trying to be obvious - it's just that his natural enthusiasm (he doesn’t seem to be faking it) makes him loud.

Tooru is blushing furiously, hiding his head in his hands even as the energetic guy's friend, Kuroo, shushes him with a laugh of his own.

“Shh, dude, you’re scaring him!”

Yeah, Tooru isn’t sure he can do this. At all.

But as it turns out, he doesn’t have much of a choice.

"Oh, hey."

Tooru can tell even if he's not looking that it's _him_ , that goddamn voice that'll surely be haunting his dreams.

"...are you okay?"

Tooru remembers the position he's in, and hastily looks up, removing his hands from his face. "Oh! Uhm. Hey. Hi. I'm- I'm fine. Of course."

Iwaizumi raises one eyebrow a little, and Tooru almost chokes.

"...if you say so."

He moves to casually take the seat next to Tooru - Mattsun and Makki have miraculously vanished - and folds his hands in his lap. Tooru finds this very, very distracting, and can't really stop himself from staring at his arms a little longer than necessary.

"So," Iwaizumi says, and Tooru's attention snaps back up to his face. "...are you liking your stay so far?"

Tooru has to put up a conscious effort to not let his entire posture sag. If this is his opening line - there's no _way_ he's even considering-

He snaps himself out of it, and suddenly he's able to draw up his signature smile again. His mind is ahead of things immediately, racing through different scenarios, dodging possible unfavorable outcomes. It's a game again, like the hot trainer's effect on his judgment has started to wear off.

That doesn't make Tooru want to succeed any less, though. Damn.

"Oh, yeah. It's great," he tells him with a grin. "...especially the staff? Everyone's so friendly and... sociable." And he sharpens his grin pointedly.

For some reason, though, the animator seems almost unaffected. He raises his eyebrows - both this time - and says: "We do our best, of course. The more our guests enjoy their time here, the more fun we have as well."

Evasive. Tooru switches techniques at lightning speed.

"Nice. That sounds like a slogan you guys learn by heart... they teach you anything useful around here, too?"

Iwaizumi huffs out a laugh, surprised (score!) - but he regains his composure surprisingly quickly.

"Oh, the odd trick here and there, yeah. How to deal with the rude ones, for example."

Tooru crosses his arms, but he leans in a little closer. "Yeah? D'you get to punish people? To set an example for the other guests?"

"Only the pretty ones. I'd watch out if I were you," Iwaizumi says smoothly. Tooru can't stop the choking this time, and Iwaizumi breaks character in the same heartbeat, honest amusement flitting across his features. And even though he's almost a little annoyed at being outdone, Tooru can't help but notice how much better he likes this honest face. Iwaizumi was already hot as fuck as it were, but real laughter makes him light up in a way that's almost blinding.

Iwaizumi allows himself the satisfied grin of the victor for a moment before straightening up and turning to face Tooru fully. "...are you done assessing me now? Think we can have a normal conversation?"

Tooru blinks - and then he smirks. That's fair.

"I dunno, can we?" he asks sweetly. "I don't even know your name!"

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. "You'd think someone as resourceful as you could have figured that out by now."

Tooru allows himself a pout - for some reason, he's getting very comfortable very fast, and he's not sure he likes that so much. It's dangerous, bringing his defenses down like this.

"...sure, I checked the lists, as one does - but all I found out was your surname, and that's really hard to say, Iwa-"

He stops, considering for a moment - and then decides _to hell with it._ He's in it to win it, after all.

"Iwa-chan."

Iwaizumi almost spits out his drink.

"...okay but seriously? It's not that difficult."

Tooru pushes his lower lip out even further. "Sure it is! Iwa-wa... Iwai..."

Iwaizumi's eyebrows are doing that thing again, the twitching because he's trying not to laugh. It really shouldn't be this adorable.

"Iwa-chan it is," Tooru says, like it's final. "I can work with that."

Iwaizumi sighs, a little too exasperated to be entirely genuine. "...I'm not getting out of this, am I."

Tooru grins. "Not unless you give me an alternative! What's your given name, Iwa-chan?"

"...how 'bout you tell me yours first? You're the one asking, after all."

Ah, and he makes it seem so effortless.

"What, I wasn't special enough for research, Iwa-chan? You wound me."

"I'm not exactly allowed to check a guest's files," Iwaizumi says, with that overly patient smile again. It's almost scary how quickly he can switch into animator-mode.

"Oh, Iwa-chan, so admirable! You really didn't bend the rules and check?"

Iwaizumi purses his lips. "You're cute, but not worth losing my job for," he decides, and Tooru forgets how words work for a moment.

"I'm- you- what?" _Cute?_ Maybe this isn't so hopeless after all...?

And there it is again, the _real_ smile that breaks Iwaizumi's facade. Amazing. If Tooru was still able to think clearly before, he certainly isn't now.

Iwaizumi seems to sense this, because he relaxes his shoulders a little and gives him a softer smile. Tooru thinks dimly that this shouldn't be allowed.

"Hajime," he says. "...is my name."

Tooru has to fight the impulse to let his jaw go slack.

"Tooru," he manages, although his voice is a little smaller than before. “Oikawa Tooru.”

"Tooru," Iwaizumi repeats, and Tooru instantly feels that if there was ever a voice that was meant to say his name, it's Iwaizumi's. _Tooru._

His throat is drier than it should be, and he only manages a nod. His brain needs time to process this, all while getting constantly distracted by Iwaizumi's arms (that should really be illegal).

"Lovely," Iwaizumi - Hajime - says, and his voice is straight back to business. "Now that we've got that out of the way... think we can move on? To, like, an actual conversation?"

Tooru manages to smile, because _damn_ , this is a challenge now, isn't it? And he's never been one to back down.

"Of course, Iwa-chan! What do you want to talk about?"

Hajime shoots him a look, but lets it slide. "Doesn't matter. Anything that's... not club-related. I'm sure you lead the most interesting of lives, _Oikawa-san_ \- tell me about that."

Tooru smirks, picking up his glass from the small side table and bringing it to his lips. The cocktail is a little too sweet, really, but he forces it down anyway, just for something to do. His brain is still busy processing Hajime's smile, committing it to memory.

“Hm,” he says. He doesn’t really want to talk about work. He doesn’t consider his life to be all that colorful, either (not that he’d ever call himself _boring_ , god forbid, but it’s probably fair to say that most of the adventure in his life comes from being friends with Makki and Mattsun). So he picks the first topic that jumps to his mind.

“Well - we’re off season right now, but I’m on a volleyball team?” 

"Oh, you play volleyball?" And Hajime's face brightens again. "You should come join our game later!"

Tooru frowns. "I don't remember there being games on Saturdays?"

Hajime grins. "There aren't, really. Just... a lot of the staff members used to play, so we get together at the beach in the late afternoon on our free day and play a little."

"Oh," Tooru says. "That- is it okay for me to join?"

Hajime shrugs. "It's not an exclusive thing, I've seen Bo and Kuroo bring people before. Should be fine."

Tooru decides not to ask what he means by "people", but he can probably guess it refers to potential conquests.

"...so I'm your 'plus one', huh?"

A grin flashes across Hajime's face. "Think you can handle not being the main attraction for once in your life?"

Tooru snorts. "Think you've got me all figured out, huh, Iwa-chan?"

"I think I've got a pretty good idea, yeah. But feel free to prove me wrong."

Tooru raises his eyebrows. Damn, this guy is good. The twinge of interest he's been feeling is becoming harder and harder to ignore.

"Is that a challenge...?"

Hajime tilts his head to one side, and Tooru realizes that they've subconsciously drifted closer together. Hajime's eyes flick down to Tooru's lips briefly before he meets his gaze again. "If you want it to be."

Tooru smirks. _Hell yes_.

But before he can say - or do - anything else, Hajime has straightened up. "Let's go somewhere else, shall we?" And he's grinning, as if he doesn't have a care in the world. It's almost hard to keep up with him - and Tooru's never been more intrigued. He straightens up, too, and puts on a grin.

"Yes," he says. "Let's."

~~~

It's not until later, until Tooru finds himself pushed up against a wall by those goddamn muscular arms, with Hajime's lips and teeth working at his neck, that it occurs to him that he might be in over his head.

Hajime is rough without being cruel, just the right amount of pushy to make Tooru's insides twist and his heartbeat quicken in his chest. Not to mention that the thought of what that mouth could do in other places leaves him breathless with want. Tooru is, quite possibly, pretty screwed.

Hajime dips lower, brushing over Tooru's collarbone and sucking, making Tooru gasp in surprise. Their bodies are pressed close together with no room to give, Tooru wedged between Hajime and the wall, so there's no way he can't feel-

Sure enough, Hajime lets out a satisfied huff that Tooru just _knows_ is accompanied by a smirk - but he can't find words because he just discovered that Hajime's hair is just long enough to twist his fingers into and _pull_ , and that's exactly what he does, yanking him upwards to slot their lips together in a sloppy, messy kiss.

Hajime has the audacity to moan, and if Tooru wasn't aroused before, he _definitely_ is now.

Hajime laughs into the space between their mouths and slides his own hands up into Tooru's hair - and _hello, yes,_ he is very into that.

"...you do that- for all your guests?" Tooru asks, breathless.

Hajime shuts him up by drawing his lower lip into his mouth. When they break apart, he laughs again, a warm, bubbly sound.

"Nope. Only the smug assholes that need to be taught a lesson." And after another kiss, he adds: "...and only the hot ones."

"You've got strange methods, Iwa-chan."

Hajime smirks. "Maybe, but they're effective." And, as if to prove his point, he rolls his hips forward and they collide with Tooru's, and even if he'd tried, Tooru couldn't have hidden how very, very affected he was. He notes, though, with some satisfaction, that Hajime is, too.

"...see?"

Tooru grabs Hajime by the waist and drags their bodies together again, craving the friction. "Shut up. Are we just about done with- all this?"

Hajime chuckles, moving to suck at his neck again. "Want me to fuck you, Oikawa Tooru?"

Tooru knows there's heat rising to his face, but he can't think straight anymore anyway. The only thing that leaves his mouth is a gasp, and a very honest answer. "Fuck, yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯¯\\_(ツ)_/¯¯\\_(ツ)_/¯¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey hey, have a Greek Gods AU because why not!!  
> I've actually been thinking of several AUs based on Greek mythology (I love it so much ok) but most of them were too detailed to write up as a short fic for today because I had limited time, so this is what I ended up going with xD Not sure if I'll make this a full-fledged fic or anything, but anyway, here it is - Aphrodite!Oikawa and Hephaestus!Iwaizumi :D  
> (Thanks to CJ for keeping me company, even though this time she went to bed before me despite a 7 hour time difference xD ~~Dw, I'm going too. It's 5:30am, for crying out loud.~~ )

“ _Hephaestus_?” Aphrodite asked, incredulous.

“Yes. He’ll be a good match for you,” Zeus said, with that ever-present certainty that was really start to get on Aphrodite’s nerves.

“But- I’d much rather be married to Ares,” they protested, before the sense to not object to Zeus’ wishes could kick in.

“I think you’ll find,” Zeus said, with an aloof kind of sound but an energy that clearly stated that this was the end of the discussion, “that Hephaestus is a better match for you.”

Well. Who is Aphrodite to disobey the God of Gods? (Though they wouldn’t do it without complaining. Aphrodite was spiteful and vain enough to believe they deserved whatever they desired - and really, Ares was such a wonderful God, strong and pretty and determined-)

“Well,” Aphrodite said. “They will have to convince me.”

Zeus smiled, way more knowingly than was entirely reassuring.

“Yes,” they said. “Hephaestus works down in the volcano. You will go to speak with him tomorrow.”

Zeus’ tone permitted no objections, so Aphrodite bowed their head, recognizing the dismissal. For now.

 

“Oh!” Demeter exclaimed when Aphrodite told them the news, “Hephaestus! The truest of the gods! You will have a good husband in him.”

“Is it true,” Aphrodite asked, “that he’s lame? He built contraptions to help him walk?” The thought was both intriguing and somewhat repellent at the same time. Aphrodite found themselves wondering more and more what kind of God Hephaestus was - they had never seen him, since he rarely left his forge-

“Oh, and does he really work with cyclopes? Aren’t they… brutish? Rude?”

Demeter just smilds, shaking their head. “You must go and see for yourself. You would not believe me, no matter what I said. But if you do want an opinion - Hephaestus is a pillar. Honest, kind. A good match for a God of Love.”

Aphrodite scrunched up their nose in distaste. “Easy for you to say. I will have to change, to go down there - it wouldn’t do for my garments to get covered in soot.”

 

Aphrodite did change, the next morning. They picked an appearance that seemed to fit the journey better, abandoning flowing locks and dresses for a male form, and reluctantly leaving behind most of the jewels and flowing gowns they were usually adorned with, for fear of them getting lost or ruined.

He made his way down towards the forge, treading carefully in ornate sandals down the uneven path that led to the entrance. He was filled with a mixture of fear and anticipation, unsure what to expect of this God who never showed his face.

He smelled the forge before he saw it, steel and fire and ashes, filling the air with soot. He covered his face with his sleeve before venturing towards the entrance, to where the clanging of weapons could be heard and sparks flew.

And oh, Demeter had been right - the sight was not something to be described, it had to be experienced. The image of the gigantic cyclopes, maneuvering among rivers of lava, shielding their eyes from the heat with hands that could easily have swept Aphrodite off his feet with no effort at all. He felt the sudden urge to shift to a larger, more intimidating form - but then there was a voice that distracted him from that thought.

“Who goes there?”

Aphrodite turned, searching the cavern for the source of the low, rough voice. There was a soft, metallic clicking, and then his eyes found movement, rising from behind a formation of rocks closer to the fire.

Hephaestus did not look like a god.

He had none of the imposing, elegant flair that Aphrodite was used to from the other Gods, no jewels, no glamour, no shine. His first instinct was to take a step back, because Hephaestus’ hands were _filthy_ , covered in soot and grime from his work. He had taken a simple shape, that of a man with short black hair and striking green eyes, the only part of his face that stood out apart from his sharp, square features. His arms were braced on contraptions of gold and silver that whirred and clicked when they moved, carrying him along as he moved towards Aphrodite. His legs looked normal, but too unsteady to carry his weight, and Aphrodite averted his eyes.

“...who are you?” Hephaestus asked, stopping a few feet away.

“...Aphrodite,” he answered. “I… am to be your wife.” But it was hard to keep the distaste out of his voice as he let his eyes sweep the forge once more, before settling back on his would-be husband.

Hephaestus’ brows drew together in confusion. “The God of Love?” he asked.

Aphrodite straightened up, as he always did when he knew he was being watched. “Indeed.”

“...why would you choose me? Wait - was it Zeus who decided this?”

Aphrodite couldn’t help but feel a little offended.

“Well. I will take my leave, then,” he said, refusing to engage any further. It was clear that this was not going to work - just the thought of getting closer to this God and his machines, the dirt and sweat on his skin… it made Aphrodite want to shudder. He would have to appeal to Zeus once more, to change the God’s mind.

“Wait,” came Hephaestus’ voice again, when he had already turned away. “Please. Tell me your name.”

Aphrodite blinked in confusion. “You know who I am,” he said, brushing a lock of hair out of his face. “Aphrodite. God of Love.”

Hephaestus broke into a smile. It sent a jolt through Aphrodite’s chest, closer and more real than he would have anticipated. “Yes,” he said, moving closer, just a fraction. “But this form of yours. What is your name?”

Aphrodite hesitated for a moment. Would he be using this form again? Often enough to warrant a name?

But something about this God - he looked nothing like the others, no grandeur, no jewels except an emerald in his ear, to contrast his dark skin - made him reconsider.

A name was a courtesy he could give, even if he did not plan to return.

“...Tooru,” he decided, lifting his chin.

“Tooru,” Hephaestus repeated. Somehow, the name sounded more melodic in his voice - a notion that struck Tooru as strange, for someone who looked so unrefined.

“Yes.”

He turned again, determined to leave - but Hephaestus spoke once more, and he was compelled to hesitate.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Tooru. Thank you for coming.”

Tooru sniffed, somehow displeased.

“...and yours?” he asked, not without reluctance.

Hephaestus smiled, he could tell without looking.

“Hajime.”

Tooru gave a nod and took his leave, but he could not help but feel like he’d been outdone.

 

Zeus was, of course, not inclined to change their mind about their decision. In fact, when Aphrodite brought it up, trying hard to sound neutral instead of slightly repulsed, Zeus dismissed the matter entirely. There would be no reconsideration.

In a fit of spite, Aphrodite went to find Ares. They had not had a conversation with the God of War since they’d come to Olympus - no real one, anyway, but Ares’ aura of strength and honor had intrigued Aphrodite from the start. Ares seemed like a much better fit in every way, and if Zeus would not listen, Aphrodite would have to take matters into their own hands.

However, before they had the chance to even pick a suitable form (a woman, Aphrodite had been thinking, with flowing hair and rosy cheeks, clad in silver and white or maybe gold), they were interrupted by a messenger.

“Hephaestus has sent for you,” they said, flitting off before Aphrodite could even ask what for. They were inclined to ignore the message altogether, still upset about the betrothal despite their glaring differences - but somehow, the God’s voice was still present in Aphrodite’s mind, gruff and honest, _thank you for coming_. There was something about him, despite Aphrodite’s reluctance, that was intriguing.

So they shifted once more, back to the lithe frame they had named before, and the choice was made.

 

This time, Hajime was waiting by the entrance to the forge, away from the scorching heat and the grime and standing on his own, albeit unsteadily. His hands were clasped behind his back as he watched Tooru approach.

“...Tooru,” he said, and his mouth curved into what might have been another smile. “Thank you for coming.”

“...did you require my assistance?” Tooru asked, still confused. “You summoned me.”

Hajime nodded. “I did. I have a gift for you.”

Tooru felt his composure drop and honest surprise show on his face. “A gift?”

“Indeed.” And he held out his hand in front of him, turning his palm up to reveal what he was holding.

It was a necklace, a simple silver chain with a pendant of amber and quartz. Tooru stared at it for a moment, incredulous - did Hajime not know that the Gods wore much, much more valuable jewels? This gift was a kind gesture, for unclear reasons, but not something Tooru would be able to-

“I know,” Hajime said, “it seems like a small offer compared to the others you must own. But give it a chance. You are the God of Love - your jewels should not outshine you. They should build on the beauty you have, not overshadow it.”

He takes a tentative, slow step towards Tooru and places the pendant in his palm. “It matches your eyes.”

Tooru is rendered speechless, barely holding back a small gasp.

“I know it’s not much,” Hajime says, “and you must be frustrated at the injustice done to you. So let me at least give you this. I am not good for much, but I do have one talent. Let me use it for you.”

Tooru gave a meek nod, stunned, eyes fixed on the pendant in his hand. He had received many gifts and offerings so far, but none as personal as this. He glanced up, only to be met by a set of determined green eyes - eyes that, suddenly, spoke with more depth than words, of honesty and loyalty and pain, and, most of all, of solitude.

Hajime's eyes seemed, at that moment, more familiar than Tooru would have liked to admit. He was still strange, different, clothes covered in signs of work; his hands looked as coarse and rough as his voice sounded - but maybe the two of them, Aphrodite and Hephaestus, Tooru and Hajime, were not that different after all.

**Author's Note:**

> ...anyway, yell at me on [tumblr](http://frenchibi.tumblr.com) or leave me a comment, those make me very happy ( ~~and why wouldn't you wanna make people happy~~ )


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